​I was talking to my older brother on the phone, and he was describing the three parties he and his wife were having to celebrate her sixtieth birthday. Due to restricted quarantine rules in Israel, no parties with more than ten people are allowed. So, they would  invite their kids, their kids’ partners and spouses, and their granddaughter one day; their best friends another day; and my sister-in-law’s best friends from childhood with their husbands the third day.
This description triggered a series of associations.  First, I recalled the close friendship they had – almost like family – with one of the couples. Then, it came to mind that the wife in that couple had diabetes. And finally, I recalled that she’d already been diabetic when both friends had gotten together many years ago. That made me think of the amount of years this woman must have lived with her illness, have been forced to take thorough care of herself, and have born the complications it caused, if it had caused them.
I had a brain injury that has generated a series of disabilities. My seizures are preventing me from working. And I’m eagerly waiting for the day I will heal and be able to cook and clean and walk; that I’ll be autonomous. In two years, I’ll be able to say hello to the new “me.” But my brother and sister-in-law’s friend has lived and will live with diabetes; she didn’t and won’t heal. So, when I feel fettered by my weak leg and complain about my seizures’ preventing me from having an active, fulfilling, and financially successful work life, I should remember this friend and consider myself lucky.

​I have an Argentine friend with whom I share three qualities: eclecticism, a love for science, and a love for literature and writing. That’s why we’ve followed a somewhat winding career path – we’ve gone from medicine to research (he, science; I, humanities and social sciences) to writing (he essays; I, poems and essays). I used to visit him whenever I went to NYC to chat, and he would always have a book ready for me.
When I had the injury, he and his wife came to Beacon thanks to a ride by a (very generous) mutual friend, and it made me really happy. Since then, he has been emailing me jokes, his own essays, videos with beautiful music, and slide shows of the most gorgeous images. What the videos and the images have in common is that they show outdoor scenes. Every time I watch them, I’m outside: snowy peaks; colorful houses; vivid greenery; a park by the river; fiery trees and houses.
I watch and listen to them, and they give me such joy. I don’t need to leave my bed or the house – I’m traveling anyway.

​A few days ago, I checked my mail, and there was an email from a prospective client. She said she had served on the editorial board of a magazine I used to work for, and she appreciated the quality of my translations. So, she was sending a paper to me so that I would quote a price and give her an approximate delivery date.
            I was in a quandary: should I say “yes” or “no”? “Yes” meant a new client, future work, a sense of security and, above all, a new source of pleasure. “No” meant not having a deadline, which would cause less stress and, therefore, imply less of a possibility of having a seizure, more of an opportunity to heal, and more time to devote to my rehab exercises (which would, in turn, offer more of an opportunity to heal). In short, “no” meant giving up my sense of financial security in order to increase my ability to heal.
            I discussed it with Eric before I answered, and I decided to answer “no.” I would explain what had happened to my brain and the reason for my regretful refusal, leaving the door open to a potential relationship. I opted for healing and gave up security, somewhat reluctantly. But I would wait a day to do that to have time to sleep on it.
            The next day, when the time came to check my mail, I started to look for the email from the prospective client so I could answer it. I looked on my inbox, and it wasn’t there. I looked on the “clients” mailbox, and it wasn’t there either. I began to get somewhat concerned. I thought of other possible locations, and looked into the trash and junk folders; nowhere to be found. Concern turned into anxiety. I went back to each folder and searched thoroughly; nowhere to be found, again.
So, overwhelmed by acute anxiety mixed with desperation, I called Eric and asked for his help. He reminded me of another resource. I used it and finally located the email: it had been sent in October, 2018. It had got here in the middle of my convalescence, when I was incapable of checking and answering emails, let alone translating or working. The discovery was a punch in the stomach. What was the point of answering her and explaining my belated response? Would I gain a new client? Was I capable of delivering a well-done job on time? Now, instead of solving a dilemma, I had many questions to answer.

​Every day when I wake up, I fight with the early morning tiredness. I take my meds, eat my breakfast, and reluctantly start doing my exercises: breathing, singing, and speaking; working out my left leg, left arm, and left hand; and walking or biking. And every day I see a small but major improvement, and it makes me happy – day by day, hour after hour of grinding at the wheel to discover a tiny spark. And sparks blend in cascades of cracking and light that illuminate my life.
But I have lunch, meditate, and write, and as I do that, the light coming in through the window gradually dims. And as it dims, an impalpable fear slowly approaches: I can see myself lying in bed, eyes open, waiting for the fear to reach me. The same feeling overcomes me every day. So, every day, when I do my exercises and meditate and read and write and am gradually surrounded by darkness, I’m eagerly waiting for the end of January to come. Then the days will be longer, the sun will bring with him a promise of warmth, and happiness will last.

​When I woke up on Sunday morning, I was very happy: I’d been counting the days one after the other, without the need of a calendar – or my phone, as my sister-in-law had suggested. I knew it was November 8th and the day before, November 7th, it had been three months that I’d gone seizure-free (in August 7th, I’d had a seizure just four days before three months would have gone by, as I said). Three months, including day seven!
My nurse aid came, and after I’d eaten my breakfast, I started doing my exercises. At noon, when I got to the last stage, which was walking with the crutch (Eric doesn’t work on Sundays, so he can walk behind me to catch me if I fall), I could walk from the dining room to the kitchen, turn around, and walk back to the threshold (I was too tired to continue) without falling more than once. All the while, I did everything right: lifted my left keg, locked it and lifted my right, and went on, slowly but surely. I only lost my balance once, when I was turning, but Eric caught me. Both things represented real milestones. I felt it was a significant step forward: an achievement. It was a sign that I could do it; that I could say good-bye to my disabilities.
After triumph, however, defeat might take its place. And the sense of accomplishment, the elation that it caused might fade away in just a few days, and I’d be frustrated again and long for the unforeseeable end. But this event has shown me that even if I took two steps backward after one step forward, I could still add each single step ahead to reach the end, if slowly. So, I could finally reach the end, step by step.

​After I finished the exercises, meditated, and read for a while, I found myself with a lot of free time in my hands. But I was too tired to read a really enriching book, that is, a book that required me to concentrate to understand it. So, I took the opportunity to clean my inbox, since I’d noticed there were more than 22,000 emails in it. I had a lot of recently created mailboxes, so my task would consist of moving significant opened mails and erasing unopened ones that I didn’t care much for: either ones that gave work-related information, old and new (since I’m not going to work any time soon), or advertising things to buy, translating classes, kid classes, and recently published books. My application marks unopened emails with a blue circle, replied emails with a curved arrow pointing to the left, and forwarded emails with a straight arrow pointing to the right. So, with all that knowledge in my hands, I set to work, right finger over the mouse-pad ready to slide and click.
The job took me in a direction I wasn’t expecting – I embarked on a fast journey toward the past. I read the emails’ sender names and subjects, which stirred up set-aside memories and unknown emotions: there were emails from a work-related network with requests for contacts that would be useless years after; emails from Nathan’s old schools which he already outgrew, showing that I’d lost the opportunity to enjoy his childhood. Images came to me of old friends, scenes, sounds, and colors. As I erased and organized, I associated mail subjects with moments in time and recalled my convalescence: my confusion, sadness, anger, and despair.
I’ve gone a long way since I settled in my Beacon home more than a year and a half ago. I can read, think, and write. My bilingualism is restored. I can translate, edit, and coach (but see my clarification in parentheses above). So, I keep running questions over in my mind: What do the future months have in store for me? Will there be new sender names of the emails showing on my inbox? Will there be different subjects? How frequently will I check my mail? How frequently will I answer emails? Will there be many or few? I’m slowly starting to take a peek at my new mail, as we wet our feet in the water to check if its temperature is good enough to swim. And one day there’ll be just a few emails in my inbox, and I will check them and answer them easily and painlessly.

​Since haven’t been able to use my left arm and hand (yet, as my speech therapist used to advise me to say), Eric has had to become chef extraordinaire, as I mentioned in a previous entry. He’s always making sure I eat healthy creations that will benefit my brain, and others that provide vitamins and minerals as well as fiber.
Here are the recipes:
 
Green Hummus
 
That’s our name for this meal because of the color of the soybeans that go in it. Other ingredients: chickpeas, tahini, olive oil, basil, oregano, garlic powder, and water.
 
Blend them all.
 
Vegetable Juice
 
Steam kale and broccoli, juice them, and add carrot and apple juice.
 
Shrimp and couscous
 
Sauté scallions, leek, shredded carrots, broccoli, spinach, and parsnip.
Toast couscous in sesame oil, add water (about one cup and a half), then simmer it for about ten or eleven minutes.
Clean the shrimp and simmer it in the vegetable mixture for about an hour, covered.
Add couscous and let it cook in very low fire.
 
Fruit Shake
 
Blend pears stored in pear juice (with their juice), fresh strawberries (cut up), and frozen mango and blueberries (thawed, with the liquid they release).